Alannah
by zoelou77
Summary: When Sherlock's estranged twin sister turns up, he is less than pleased. Her upsetting news has him re-evaluating their releationship and what is important to him. Established JohnLock. Warnings for terminal illness and eventual death.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is loosely based on a Twitter RP with TheArmyDoctor and DeathfrisbeeSH. I have compiled this from memory and Alannah is my invention.

All recognisable characters have their own Copyright to Sir ACD and BBC; I'm just borrowing them.

Chapter One

The woman stood nervously outside 221b Baker Street. She was dressed in a cream Gucci dress and gold Jimmy Choos. Her dark hair was baby soft and cut into a modern pixie style. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell, unsure whether she hoped the occupants would be at home or not.

A kind-faced elderly lady opened the door. 'Yes dear, can I help you?' she smiled

'I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. I was told he lived here.'

'Go on up, he's on the first floor, the door will be open'

'Thank you' the woman smiled and made her way up to the first floor flat, knocking as she pushed open the door. 'Sherlock?'

The man in question turned from his position by the window and froze. His voice cold he spoke to her; 'What are you doing here?'

'Is that any way to greet your sister?'

Sherlock barked a bitter laugh. 'Sister? We may have shared a womb once, Alannah, but you stopped being my sister a long time ago.'

'Yes, seven years ago. I remember very well how you, Mycroft and mummy publicly disowned me. A lot has happened since then. I have changed and I miss my baby twin'

Sherlock frowned. 'What is it you want? You would never come to me unless there was something you wanted. A deal gone bad? Got the Russian Mafia after you?' He took the time to look his sister over. She was thin, both of them had always had a slender form, but she was very thin. Her hair was soft, much softer than he would expect of a 35 year old woman. Her expression was pinched with pain, though she was working hard to hide it. 'You're ill. Are you using again?'

Alannah looked hurt. 'I've been clean for over ten years. More than can be said for you, brother.'

'Then why are you here. You obviously want my help, so spit it out.'

She swallowed. 'You can't help.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You wouldn't be here if you didn't think I could help. Selfish to the last – you will never change.'

Alannah felt a tear slip down her face; she had never been as good as her brothers at hiding her feelings. 'Maybe it is selfish to want to make peace with my twin brother. Look at me – really look. What do you see?'

He looked at her again, the deduction slipping into place. 'You're ill. Cancer – your hair is new growth after chemotherapy. You obviously finished treatment a while ago, so why come to me now?' He gasped, 'Oh. Oh … I see. How long?'

Alannah closed her eyes, unable to look him in the eye. 'Maybe 6 months. Cerebral brain tumour, inoperable. 3 months aggressive chemo and radiotherapy didn't touch it.' The sound of retching made her open her eyes. Sherlock was bent over the kitchen sink losing the contents of his stomach, she sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

He takes his time rinsing his mouth before turning back to face her. 'Why are you sorry? Traditionally, that should be my line.'

'I've just hit you with information that I've had months to process and accept.

Sherlock smiled suddenly, 'John'

'John?'

'My flatmate. Ex-army doctor. I'm sure he will be able to help.'

Alannah sighed; she should have expected this. Sherlock would see her illness as a problem that he needed to solve. 'I have been poked, prodded and scanned enough to know that the doctors are telling the truth when they say there is nothing to be done.'

'More chemotherapy'

'Would give me a year at best, but at what price? I've ..' Alannah stopped, unmoving and unblinking. The seizure lasted just a few seconds before she continued, unaware that she had paused, 'accepted it.'

Sherlock said nothing about the brief absence seizure, but looked at his sister, almost pleading. 'I trust John's medical opinion implicitly. If he concurs, then I will accept it too.'

Alannah nodded her agreement; she knew that John would have no choice but to confirm the diagnosis and prognosis. Pulling out a card, she handed it to Sherlock, working hard to keep him from seeing how ill she was currently feeling. 'This is my address and number. Call me when John can see me.'

'You're leaving?'

'You want me to stay?'

'Of course I want you to stay' [I don't know how long we have left together] 'tell me about you. You say you have changed. How?'

Alannah sat on the edge of the couch. 'It's mostly since I've been properly ill, so over a year.'

'You have been ill for a year?'

'Closer to eighteen months. Things had to change when I started chemo; it made me really ill. I could barely keep anything down for 2 days after each session. The sessions were weekly.' She stops, visibly upset, looking drawn.' Sorry. I know you don't like emotional displays.'

Sherlock surprised her by sitting next to her and pulling her into an awkward hug. 'Do Mummy and Mycroft know?'

Alannah stiffened in his embrace. 'Please don't tell them.'

He pulled back to look her in the eye. ''Lannah, they have a right to know.'

She shook her head, 'Please, promise me you won't tell them, Lock, promise me.'

Searching her face and seeing her genuine distress, he acquiesced. 'I promise; on one condition. Live here. You know what's coming; that you won't be able to live alone. Let John and me take care of you.'

Alannah looked at her brother confused. 'You don't do caring. Why is this different?'

'Let's just say that I have changed too in the past few years.'

'Since your 'suicide', you mean?'

Sherlock grimaced, as he always did whenever the subject of his faked suicide was brought up. 'Partly, but mostly because of John's influence.'

'Are you and he … together?'

Sherlock nodded. 'It happened a few months after I returned. Moriarty forced me to acknowledge how I felt.'

Alannah smiled. 'I'm glad. You know I couldn't believe it when I read in the papers about your suicide. I tried to contact Mummy and Mycroft, but they wouldn't take my calls. Then you came back and your name was cleared. I nearly got in touch then, but I was afraid you would reject me too. Then I found out I was ill …' She yawned.

Sherlock smiled. 'You're practically asleep. Why don't you have a nap? Use my bed, John won't mind.'

Alannah nodded, genuinely too tired to argue. Once he was sure she was asleep, Sherlock made arrangements to have Alannah's things brought to Baker Street, then he sent a text to Lestrade informing him that he was currently unavailable for cases. Finally, he called John and briefed him on the situation. John promised to return home as soon as he could and that he would request a copy of Alannah's medical records.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A shortish chapter where we learn more about Alannah and Sherlock's relationship and what went wrong.

Chapter Two

John arrived back at Baker Street less than an hour late, a copy of Alannah's medical file on a memory stick in his pocket. Sherlock sat motionless in his armchair. If John hadn't lived with the man for so long, he may have thought that he was thinking. Closer observation showed that Sherlock's eyes were slightly pink and every so often, his breathing hitched minutely.

John went over to his lover and knelt in front of him, touching his hand lightly. 'You never said you had a sister.'

Sherlock let out a shuddering sigh. 'The family disowned her just over 7 years ago. I hadn't seen her since then.'

John nodded. 'I've taken a look at her notes and the images.' He took a deep breath. 'It's not good, Sherlock. Is she still asleep?' Sherlock nodded, looking lost. 'Do you want to see?' He nodded again, silent.

John got up sighing, his knees popping in protest. Firing up his laptop, he loaded the files from the memory stick. When he sensed Sherlock standing behind him, he opened the file with the images from the most recent MRI scan – 3 months ago. He pulled up an image which shoed a cross-section of the brain. In the middle of the image was a white splodge, roughly 5cm in diameter.

'Oh God!' came the hoarse whisper from behind him.

John hummed in agreement. 'See how it sits centrally? That image is just under an inch above the brain stem. There is no way to get to the tumour without causing massive damage to the healthy tissue.'

Sherlock's knees buckled and he sat down heavily next to John. 'So there's really nothing to be done?'

'Her notes show that the chemotherapy was preventing the tumour from growing further, but she had such a bad reaction that other complications arose, forcing the decision to stop the treatment. I'm sorry Sherlock, from what I can see, palliative care is all that is left.' John reached out and pulled Sherlock close, holding him as he cried quietly. 'I'm sorry, so, so sorry' he murmured against his neck, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Sherlock pulled away shaking his head in denial. 'There must be something; some kind of drugs trial? Something?'

John looked at the tear-stained face of his lover, his heart breaking for him. 'I'll ask around, OK? Why don't you tell me what happened between you and Alannah?'

Sherlock took a shaky breath. 'I suppose it all started while we were at uni. We both got into drugs, we were close back then, not the best influence on each other, but we stood united against Mycroft. She's older than me by 24 minutes, always took the lead. Anyway, my relationship with the dealers was strictly business; Alannah made friends.

She fell in love with her dealer's friend, Jacob. He didn't like the drugs, so he helped her to get clean. He was into arms and he showed her the business; gave her a focus away from the drugs. Eventually, she invested in the company and became a partner. Not long after that, Jacob was killed in a car accident and she took on the business. It became her obsession.

'Then 7 years ago, father was shot dead. The gun that killed him was traced back to Alannah. Mummy and Mycroft disowned her; I found myself agreeing. We had hoped that it would shock her to her senses, but she didn't see how it was her fault. She kept saying that she had no influence over how her customers used their purchases. Our last conversation before today was a blazing row.'

John scrubbed his hand across his face. 'What I don't understand is why she wasn't at your funeral'

'Mummy and Mycroft wouldn't take her calls, so she didn't know when or where it was. Then when I came back, she was afraid I would reject her too – a fair assumption. I wasn't pleased to see her today, but she's my sister and she's dying. Even I can't hold a grudge against that.'

The lady in question emerged from the bedroom, looking less weary than she had a couple of hours previously. 'Hi. Talking about me?' She offered her hand to John. 'I'm Alannah, you're John?'


End file.
